Moor Verse
by mrspencil
Summary: A slightly different approach to "The Hound of the Baskervilles". Chapter 14:Two Moor Poems by Lemon Zinger and mrspencil.
1. One Moor

_A slightly different approach to"The Hound of the Baskervilles". Narrative verse._

_A/N: __This was mainly written to keep me occupied on planes, trains and in airports on a recent trip to the States. It is quite a bit longer than is my usual style, hence the 5 parts, and follows, fairly closely, ACD's story and descriptions. I am not sure if this version adds anything new, but I certainly have a better idea now of just how many words rhyme with "hound" and "moor"! As always, I welcome comments and feedback. _

_Mrs P :)_

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_Many, many thanks to medcat for beta reading._

_Spoilers: for The Hound of the Baskervilles, many spoilers._

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Moor Verse 1**

* * *

This tale began with a walking stick, left in our rooms one night,

And led to the strangest, wildest case I have ever had cause to write.

A case which was filled with remarkable deeds and events never seen before,

And the haunting sound of a monstrous hound on the bleak and the windswept moor.

* * *

A walking stick, a physician's stick, engraved with the owner's name.

The chance to employ our deductive skills, an old and familiar game.

A chance for my careful response to be wrong, and my partner, again, to be right,

Though I seemed to have sparked off a new train of thought, a useful conductor of light.

When Doctor James Mortimer came for his stick, the story began to unfold.

As he read out the words on an old manuscript, this sinister legend was told.

* * *

He described a Sir Hugo Baskerville, a wild and a godless man,

Who devised, from his land on the edge of the moors, an evil, heartless plan.

He sought the love of a local maid, as a hunter seeks its prey,

And when she rejected his cruel demands, he carried the girl away.

He carried her off to his stark grey hall, with the lonely moors above,

And locked her away for his own foul ends, a warped and twisted love.

To stay in the power of this wicked man, was a cross she could not bear,

So as he indulged in wine and song, she fled from his evil lair.

* * *

As she ran for her life from that gloomy hall, her courage began to fail,

As she faced a flight through the moors at night, with his hounds upon her trail.

When he'd gone to her room in a drunken haze, his prize was no longer there,

So he pledged his soul to the powers of Hell and saddled his proud black mare.

In an awful, mindless fit of rage, he headed for the windswept moor,

And his friends were afraid, if he caught the maid, of the terrible fate in store.

So they followed his tracks through the untamed land, till they came to a lonely tor,

Where they saw the form of the tragic girl, lying lifeless upon the floor.

And next to the girl, in the light of the moon, where their drunken comrade fell,

With jaws which were red with Sir Hugo's blood, stood a monstrous hound of Hell!

* * *

"Just a fairytale," was my friend's response, "I confess, I had hoped for more.

I fail to see, why you've come to me, I don't see what you need me for."

"But there's more to this tale which would interest you, a recent twist, "he replied.

"It concerns the late Charles Baskerville, and the manner in which he died.

He was found at the end of a yew-lined path, by a gate leading up to the moor,

With his arms out flung and such fear on his face, I have never seen the like before.

And a little way off, I espied some marks, fresh and clear in the ground.

The marks I am sure, though you'll scarce believe, were the prints of a monstrous hound!

And the heir to the wealth of the Baskervilles, Sir Henry, is in my charge.

And I fear for his life, as events suggest there are murderous fiends at large."

* * *

Now, the boredom vanished from my partner's eyes, and the atmosphere grew tense,

And he questioned the doctor further, about that day's events.

Then after a day spent deep in thought, he agreed to take the case.

As he had other business to complete in town, he would send me in his place.

The next few days, as we all prepared, were not without some danger,

With missing boots, our movements tracked, and warnings from a stranger.

* * *

The day arrived, with my new found friends; I was heading for a west-bound train,

And Holmes confessed he would not relax till I was back in our rooms again.

With revolver packed, and my partner's trust, and adventure in the air,

I thrilled at the thought of the lonely moors, and whatever awaited me there.

* * *

We arrived at a Devonshire station, and headed for the edge of the moor,

Where we learned of a Princetown convict, escaped several days before.

So we travelled on up, through high-banked lanes in the waning evening light,

And as we crossed a bridge, past a rushing stream, we beheld an amazing sight,

For we'd topped a rise, and in front of us was the huge expanse of the moor,

Mottled with gnarled and craggy cairns, with mire and looming tor.

* * *

Thus we came to the seat of the Baskervilles, a massive two-towered block,

To the left and the right of the turrets were wings of granite rock.

And a man stepped out of the shadows, to greet us at the door,

He was tall and pale with a square black beard, the butler, Barrymore.

* * *

We ate in the ancient dining hall, a shadow-filled dim-lit room,

And were watched by a line of ancestors, above us in the gloom.

Our talk was hushed and stilted, the atmosphere subdued,

And the moor in the distance echoed the melancholy mood.

I was glad to return to my room by then, to prepare for another day,

But a chiming clock and a woman's sobs kept sleep and peace at bay.

* * *

I woke next day in a lighter mood, and wondered about the cries,

And was served by the wife of Barrymore, with tell-tale, red-rimmed eyes.

As my own suspicions were heightened, by the actions of this pair,

I headed for Grimpen village, and talked to the postman there.

My enquiries made no headway, so I returned along the road,

The trust that Holmes had placed in me, a constant heavy load.

My thoughts were interrupted, when I heard a neighbour's call,

A botanist, named Stapleton, who lived beyond the Hall.

As we walked and talked on the roadway, the day had a shock in store,

A pony's hopeless struggle, as the mire claimed one soul more.

The strangest sound then filled the air, a moan which rose and fell,

It faded to a murmur. The cause? We could not tell.

* * *

As Stapleton left, a girl approached, as dark as he was fair,

And warned me I should leave the moor and all the danger there.

The girl was Stapleton's sister, a beauty, proud and slim,

She'd thought I was Sir Henry, the message was for him.

But as I headed homeward, she spoke to me again,

Informed me if I lingered, the danger would remain.

* * *

end of part one


	2. Two Moor

_A/N : as in part 1_

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me_

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Moor verse 2**

* * *

I wrote to London daily, told Holmes my deeds and thoughts,

Hoping he'd be grateful for my carefully penned reports.

The convict still escaped arrest, thus causing much alarm,

Sir Henry met the Stapletons, fell for the sister's charm.

I described a neighbour, Frankland, who studied law for fun,

Spent all on litigation, delighted if he won.

He also had a telescope he used to watch the moor,

He hoped to spot the convict, or more breaches of the law.

And as the days and weeks went past, the moorland touched my heart,

And Holmes, and London matters seemed distant worlds apart.

* * *

A tapping sound awoke me in the middle of one night,

When footsteps passed my bedroom, I followed out of sight,

I saw the butler by a window, with a candle on display,

I watched him for a minute, then quietly slipped away.

I mentioned this to Sir Henry, who was keen on learning more,

We planned a night-time vigil, to learn what the light was for.

The first night of our vigil brought no success at all,

But the second night again we heard soft footsteps in the hall.

And so we followed, silently, he acted just the same,

He stood with lighted candle against the window frame.

Sir Henry acted swiftly, confronted Barrymore,

And asked him quite directly, what he held the candle for.

His dark eyes full of horror, he would not say a word,

He would not give the game away, no clue to what occurred.

A sudden notion crossed my mind, I held the candle high,

And saw beyond a bank of trees, a flickering reply.

He still refused to answer us, but then his wife appeared,

And told us that her brother was the convict we had feared.

For days they'd both been helping him, supplying bread and meat,

The candle was a signal when he needed more to eat.

* * *

The servants having left the room, we stared across the moor,

And spotted where the signal lay, beyond a shadowed tor.

We knew this man was dangerous, and needed to be caught,

So started off towards the light without a second thought.

We hurried on our mission, through a dark and stormy night,

And fixed our gazes firmly on the distant burning light.

We talked of dark and evil powers, then heard a haunting cry,

A mutter then a rising howl, a wild and mournful sigh.

The atmosphere was throbbing with a drawn out mournful sound.

Sir Henry whispered hoarsely, "That's the crying of the hound!"

* * *

Yet still we stumbled onwards to the dwindling speck of light,

And tried to put behind us all the horrors of the night.

We found a guttering candle but the signaller had gone.

I caught a glimpse of an evil face, and the desperate chase was on.

But we had no hope of catching him as he raced across the moor

And as I caught my breath, I saw a figure on the tor.

A man in perfect silhouette against the pale moon light,

But as I turned to warn my friend, he vanished out of sight.

* * *

The house was banked with rolling fog, when I awoke next day,

I sensed impending danger, but from what I could not say.

Barrymore approached me, said his wife was quite distraught,

He thought it would have killed her, if her brother had been caught.

We made a pact to leave the convict living on the moors,

While his sister made arrangements for his move to foreign shores.

And in return he told us of Sir Charles's final day,

And how he'd planned to meet a girl along the yew-lined way.

He knew the girl's initials, from a letter were, "L L"

But as the note was burned and charred that's all that he could tell.

I spoke to Doctor Mortimer about the mystery name.

He recalled that Frankland`s daughter had initials just the same.

"She wished to wed an artist, though her father disagreed.

He married then deserted her; she may be who you need."

* * *

Another conversation which I held with Barrymore,

Confirmed the convict also saw my stranger on the tor.

He dwelt upon the hillside in an ancient hut of stone.

But what could be the purpose of his vigil there alone?

He seemed to merely wait and watch the moorland world go by.

I swore before the day had passed, I'd learn the reason why.

* * *

And now my tale picks up a pace, positions are defined,

And incidents described to you are seared across my mind.

The terrible conclusion was a few short days away,

And nightmares which began back then, continue to this day.

* * *

I met with Frankland`s daughter and enquired about the note.

She denied direct involvement till I read the words she wrote.

She said she planned to meet Sir Charles; he'd helped her out before,

But missed the assignation as another offered more.

I left her home disheartened, as I felt I'd missed a clue.

The total sequence of events did not, to me, ring true.

Having reached an impasse, I resolved to search the moor,

And find those ancient dwellings and my stranger from the tor.

* * *

But Mr Frankland hailed me, this filled me with dismay.

He'd wear me down with legal talk, I had to get away.

For once the gods were on my side, I used his telescope,

And spied an urchin on the hill, this image gave me hope.

I gave polite excuses as to why I could not stay,

And having bid the man farewell continued on my way.

As soon as he was out of sight, I left the moorland road,

And headed up the hill to find the stranger's rough abode.

* * *

At dusk I reached the ancient huts and studied them with care.

There had to be a simple clue to which might be his lair.

Only one, the central one, had any kind of roof,

I knew this had to be his home, but needed further proof.

I threw my cigarette aside; no person was in sight,

And cautiously approached the door, prepared to stand and fight.

The room was still and empty, and confirmed I'd reached my goal,

With food and cooking implements and blankets in a roll.

And roughly scrawled in pencil was a note of where I'd been.

It was I and not Sir Henry whom he monitored, unseen.

* * *

I stood for several minutes with that paper in my hand,

Aware that there were many things I did not understand.

Again I sensed an unknown force was slowly drawing in.

A delicate and skilful net to trap us all within.

* * *

I searched for further papers, but my efforts were in vain,

And considered who the stranger was, and what he hoped to gain.

I marvelled at the strength of mind required to live up here.

I'd wait, however long it took, for him to reappear.

* * *

_end of part two_


	3. Three Moor

_A/N as per part 1_

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Moor Verse 3**

* * *

With tingling nerves but firm resolve, I waited there alone,

Until I heard the distant sound of footstep striking stone.

The steps approached, then silence, then a shadow at the door.

And then I heard a sound I'd heard so many times before.

A sound quite unexpected, which my brain at first denied,

The distinctive voice of Sherlock Holmes, inviting me outside!

* * *

I sat there stunned and breathless, not believing what I heard.

To think that Holmes was close at hand was really quite absurd.

But then my sense and voice returned, I called and he replied,

And pocketing my pistol, I hastened to his side.

A lean and sunburned Sherlock Holmes was seated on a stone.

I knew whatever lay ahead, I would not face alone.

The burden of the past few weeks had been a constant strain.

That burden had been lifted when I heard his voice again.

I wondered what had warned him that his dwelling had been found.

He waved the cigarette stub I'd discarded on the ground.

* * *

We compared degrees of progress in this complicated case,

And then I asked what brought him to this god-forsaken place.

His answer caused some bitterness; he'd used me yet again,

I felt he did not trust me; my reports had been in vain.

He said he'd worked in secret so our foe was not alarmed,

And his action had been prompted by the fear I could be harmed.

My reports had been essential to his handling of the case,

I conceded I'd have done the same if I'd been in his place.

Then Holmes, relieved I'd understood, described what he'd discovered,

Regarding Mr Stapleton, deceptions he'd uncovered.

Frankland`s girl and Stapleton enjoyed a secret life,

And the girl he called his sister was in fact his lawful wife.

* * *

At his words, the vague suspicions I had harboured from the start,

All centred on the botanist, his cold and murderous heart.

And now his nets were closing in, and soon he'd pull them tight.

I had to guard Sir Henry and not let him out of sight.

* * *

But as we spoke, a dreadful scream rang out across the moor,

It faded in the distance then came louder than before.

Another sound was heard behind this desperate, wrenching plea,

A deep and muttered rumble like the murmur of the sea.

"The hound!" exclaimed my partner, "And I fear we are too late!"

And one last scream, then silence, seemed to seal Sir Henry's fate.

* * *

We stumbled through the darkness till we reached a stone strewn slope.

A body hunched face downwards took our last remaining hope.

I felt I was responsible as I had left his side.

If I had been more diligent, he may well not have died.

And Holmes felt he was more to blame, he'd waited for more clues,

And had not really thought of what his client had to lose.

We stood with bitter hearts as we reflected on the case.

Our long and weary labours at an end in such a place.

* * *

The moor was gloom and silver in the shadows of the night,

A single house, the Stapleton's, with distant mocking light.

* * *

But Holmes then checked the body and observed he had a beard.

The convict had been murdered, not Sir Henry as we'd feared.

The convict wore Sir Henry's clothes; his sister passed them on,

And that had caused his awful death, why he'd been set upon.

The death was still a tragedy, as any death would be,

But considering his crimes, no-one deserved it more than he.

And as we thought to move the body, Stapleton came by,

Explaining he had also heard the dreadful, haunting cry.

He hurried to the body with a look of fear and dread,

Then saw it was a stranger, not Sir Henry who was dead.

He hid his disappointment well and asked us what we knew,

To check if having heard the cries, we heard the howling too.

So Holmes informed him of his plans to take a morning train,

He was tired of chasing legends and had no wish to remain.

* * *

We headed back, the two of us, across the silvered moor,

Aware we faced a challenge we had never faced before.

Our evidence was smoke and mist, the danger very real,

We know we'd never had a foe more worthy of our steel.

* * *

We met up with Sir Henry, and told part of what occurred,

But about the hound or Stapleton, we did not say a word.

Holmes then stopped and stared as we approached the dining hall,

And asked Sir Henry details of the portraits on the wall.

One was of a cavalier, in velvet and fine lace,

With steel-cold eyes, and thin-lipped mouth, a prim, meek-mannered face.

"Why, that's the wicked Hugo, you've heard of him before!

The cause of all the mischief with the hound upon the moor!"

* * *

After we had dined, and when Sir Henry left the room,

Holmes led me to the portraits, shone a candle through the gloom.

He asked what I had noticed, then he stood upon a chair,

And covered up Sir Hugo's hat and long ringletted hair.

At once I caught his meaning, it was clear as it could be,

I saw the villain, Stapleton, now staring down at me.

The fellow was a Baskerville! A motive found at last!

We'd have him in our net before another night had passed.

* * *

The case was near its climax, we prepared to see it through,

The next day, Holmes rose early; he had many things to do.

He told the Princetown jail about the convict's tragic fate,

We needed then Sir Henry's trust, in setting up our bait.

We told him we must leave that day, were due in town instead,

He had to do what Holmes required, exactly as he said.

He had an invitation to the Stapletons that day,

We told him to arrive by trap, but not return that way.

He'd walk back home across the moor, he had to make that clear,

And if he used our route he would have nothing there to fear.

* * *

We headed for the London train, Sir Henry looked bereft.

But we sent the urchin in our place, to prove that we had left.

A telegram awaited us, a note from Scotland Yard,

Complete with unsigned warrant, from Inspector G. Lestrade.

* * *

Holmes then told Frankland`s daughter, she had been a victim too,

That Stapleton was married, and to tell us all she knew.

We showed her proof, and saw her face, and knew that we had won,

Confirmed the note to meet Sir Charles was planned by Stapleton.

She'd stayed away at his request, when Charles had met his fate,

His betrayal was now clear to her, much wiser far too late.

* * *

The London train's arrival was the next thing on our list.

We waited for Lestrade, then filled him in on what he'd missed.

And as we travelled through the dark, across the lonely moor,

I wondered what the night would bring, what perils lay in store.

* * *

end of part three- _almost a cliffhanger! ( if there is any one reading who does not know the story already :) )_


	4. Four Moor

_A/N as in chapter 1,as in previous chapters, I have made use of ACDs descriptive skills, this chapter has 2 lines almost word for word from the original story which very conveniently rhymed and scanned:) (ACD -very helpful author.)_

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Moor Verse 4**

* * *

I noticed we were near the hall, but did not reach the door.

Instead we stopped beside the gate, which led onto the moor.

And in the fog-swirled moorland, we observed a distant light.

The light belonged to Stapleton, our goal that fateful night.

* * *

We moved together cautiously, along the moorland track,

Then stopped behind a screen of rocks, to watch our friend walk back.

Then, as I'd seen the house before, I went to check the room,

I tip-toed down the garden path and watched them from the gloom.

Sir Henry sat with Stapleton, cigars and wine at hand,

Sir Henry looking pale and fraught, not knowing what was planned.

Then Stapleton arose and left, outside I heard him pause,

A key was turned, a scuffling sound, I could not tell the cause.

I heard the key turn once again, and Stapleton returned.

I crept back quietly to my friends, to tell them what I'd learned.

* * *

Drifting over Grimpen mire a dense white fog was seen,

The tors stood out like icebergs through a layer with silver sheen.

The fog was creeping nearer, and the landmarks disappeared,

And Holmes grew more impatient with the one thing he had feared.

The night was clear above us, the stars shone cold and bright,

A half moon bathed the whole scene in a soft uncertain light.

Before us lay the villain's house, outlined against the moon,

The fog drew ever nearer, we needed action soon.

The fog-bank drifted onwards, the house no longer clear,

We had to move to higher ground, and hoped he'd soon appear.

And still that dense white sea rolled on; we had to stand our ground,

Or we might miss Sir Henry, with the fog wreathed all around.

* * *

The welcome sound of footsteps broke the silence of the moor,

Sir Henry coming closer was the cue we'd waited for.

He came through fog-lined curtains to a clear and starlit night,

Then walked on apprehensively and checked to left and right.

* * *

Then came a crisp, thin patter from within that dense white sea.

We looked around, uncertain, unaware what it might be.

I glanced at Holmes' expression, now a fixed and rigid stare,

And Lestrade cried out in terror at the horror he saw there,

He threw himself face forward on the stark and stony ground.

I sprang up to my feet to face…a monstrous coal-black hound!

* * *

Its eyes were coldly glowing, through the wall of fog it came,

Its muzzle, haunch and dewlap were defined by glowing flame.

A dark and savage Hound of Hell, appearing on the moor,

The like of which, no mortal eyes had ever seen before!

* * *

Before we had recovered, the hound had passed us by,

We fired together, two of us, it gave a dreadful cry.

But still the creature bounded on towards our helpless friend.

We saw Sir Henry, terrified, convinced he'd met his end.

But, the cry of pain which we had heard, swept all our fears away,

We knew the hound was mortal and we still could win the day.

And so we raced across the moor, and up the sloping ground,

Towards Sir Henry's screaming and the howling of the hound.

* * *

Then Holmes, some way ahead of me, had reached the monster first,

And held his pistol to it's flank and fired a rapid burst.

With a final howl of agony, the monstrous creature cried,

It rolled, snapped at the moorland air, then fell upon its side.

I stopped and held my pistol to its dreadful shimmering head,

But did not pull the trigger, it was clear the hound was dead.

* * *

Sir Henry lay still on the track; the hound had hurled him there.

We checked him, as we feared for wounds, but found none anywhere.

To our relief, Sir Henry stirred, and soon was wide awake.

"My God!" he whispered softly," What was that, for Heaven's sake!"

* * *

We studied the enormous beast, could not believe our eyes,

A bloodhound crossed with mastiff, like a lioness in size.

Its jaws still glowed with bluish fire; the eyes were ringed with flame.

I touched it and my finger glowed and smouldered just the same.

"It's phosphorus!" I realised, and Holmes confirmed my find,

An odourless concoction, so that scents could be defined.

He apologised profusely for Sir Henry's awful fright,

He'd not expected such a beast or such a fogbound night.

* * *

Sir Henry tried to stagger up, but still was deathly pale,

We left him to recover while we sought the villain's trail.

* * *

end of part four


	5. No Moor

_A/N as per chapter 1_

_Many thanks to all who read this and all who reviewed:) Although this is the end of the long poem, there are 2 more moor(! )related pieces to follow; a shorter poem, and a piece written with Lemon Zinger._

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Moor Verse 5**

* * *

The shots we fired meant Stapleton would know we stopped his hound,

We'd check the house, but understood he'd likely gone to ground.

We found the door wide open, so swiftly hurried in,

One room was locked; we heard the sound of moaning from within.

Holmes kicked the door, above the lock; we entered in, all three,

And saw the strangest object we had ever had to see.

* * *

The room was a museum, a botanist's delight,

And tethered to a central post, a dreadful, hopeless sight.

A figure, wrapped in sheets and towels, with dark eyes full of grief.

We unswathed the bonds, tore off the gag and stared in disbelief,

We'd freed the wife of Stapleton; we saw she'd been ill-used,

With weals and bruises visible, her mind and soul abused.

The hope that he still loved her, had kept her in this place,

She'd endured deceit and solitude, ill-usage and disgrace.

But now she knew he'd fooled her, her wasted life was mourned,

And Hell could have no fury like this tragic woman scorned.

* * *

She knew where he would flee to, his refuge on the moor,

An old tin mine on Grimpen mire, was where he'd headed for.

The mire was dark and treacherous; some wands had shown his way,

But as the thick white fog rolled in, were hidden where they lay.

He might get in, but not get out, was trapped by his own hand,

We had him at our mercy; it could not be better planned.

* * *

It was clear that in the fog-wreathed night, pursuit would be in vain,

We'd rest from our exertions, in the morning search again.

We had to tell Sir Henry what the Stapletons had done,

The web of lies and subterfuge the botanist had spun.

He took the news quite bravely of the girl he had adored,

His nerves and health were shattered, needing time to be restored.

* * *

Next morning, Mrs Stapleton revealed her husband's track.

She showed the wands which guided him across the moor and back.

We followed them from tuft to tuft, as closely as we could,

But several times we missed a step, and sank in thigh deep mud.

The reeds and water plants produced an odour of decay,

The mire plucked at our heels as though enticing us to stay.

Then Holmes espied, on cotton-grass, an object, small and black,

And nearly lost his life in an attempt to bring it back.

The object was the boot, Sir Henry lost in London town,

And Stapleton had used it for his scent, then thrown it down.

* * *

And that was all we ever found, no trace of Stapleton,

No chance of prints in rising mud to show where he had gone.

We knew the mire had claimed him on his final panicked flight,

Buried in the huge morass, which swallowed him that night.

* * *

And Holmes declared he'd rarely seen a stranger case before,

And swept his long arm out towards the mire and endless moor.

* * *

A few weeks on, in Baker Street, we talked about the case,

The details of that dreadful time, the fears we'd had to face.

Sir Henry and James Mortimer had been that afternoon,

A trip abroad was planned; we hoped his health recovered soon.

The complex nature of the crime, meant weeks of work ahead,

But Holmes declared a different plan, an evening off instead.

The logical solution, to a bleak November day,

A box to see"Les Huguenots", Marcini's on the way.

* * *

End


	6. Less Verse

_A/N: The main purpose of this shortened version of "Hound" was to allow me to use the title below. _

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_Spoilers: for "The Hound of the Baskervilles"._

_And thanks again to medcat for beta reading :)_

_Watson POV_

* * *

**Less Verse**

* * *

A walking stick, a manuscript,

Huge footprints on the moor,

A trip, as Holmes is occupied,

What else are sidekicks for?

A death beside a moorland gate,

Those prints, our only clue.

No prints from Frankland's daughter,

As she missed the rendezvous.

The granite hall of Baskerville,

Strange sobbing in the night,

A very friendly botanist,

And sister (well not quite!)

A convict loose from Princetown jail,

A "hermit" on the tor,

An unsuccessful midnight chase,

Strange howling from the moor.

The hermit's real identity,

My partner in disguise.

So, yet again, forgiveness

For subterfuge and lies.

And then, more eerie howling,

And another moonlit chase.

A body! Not Sir Henry?

No, a convict in his place.

The sympathetic botanist

Just happens to arrive,

And tries to look delighted

That Sir Henry's still alive.

Then, back to meet Sir Henry,

See the portraits on his wall

The botanist's bland features

Match the cruellest one of all.

Lestrade then joins our party,

We set off across the moor.

Sir Henry meets the botanist,

Not knowing what's in store.

We wait; a thick white fog descends,

Obscuring sight and sound.

Our friend appears, then at his heels

A monstrous glowing hound!

Dramatic pause…then action

As we fire upon the beast.

Judging by its change of cry,

We've wounded it at least.

We rescue poor Sir Henry

From a bloody canine death,

And watch the monstrous hound of Hell

Howl one last dying breath.

So, now to find the botanist;

We find his sister/wife,

Who finally has recognised

Her loveless wasted life.

We rest, then in the morning

Head for Grimpen mire again.

Apart from one discarded boot,

No trace or prints remain.

The mire has claimed the botanist,

On his final, panicked flight.

We leave the moor, but take with us

The horrors of that night.

Much later, back in Baker Street,

A bleak November day.

A box to see "Les Huguenots",

Marcini's on the way.

* * *

End :)


	7. Less Hound

**__**

**A/N**

**This evolved from a PM conversation with Lemon Zinger,and we have written roughly half each. It also happens to answer a prompt by sagredo (see the forum- plot bunny adoption agency) and is a fluffier version of HOUND for those of a nervous disposition. Still contains mild peril though! We thoroughly enjoyed writing this together, which brings me to a request:**

**_I am continuing to shrink HOUND into less and less verse. Next to be posted is a drabble, a 3/4 drabble, then a half drabble. Smaller poems than that would look lonely, so I wondered if anyone would like to add to a chapter of small HOUND related poems. Rhyming is not essential, HOUND or moor theme is, 50 words or less and if you can add one moor play on words in the title, so much the better. All, of course, will be properly credited . I already have had several sent, ranging from a half drabble, to a 5 word poem. PM me if interested, aim would be to post in about 3 weeks. I would put them in reverse order of word count._**

**_Thank you very much_**

**_Mrs P :)_**

**_Holmes and companions do not belong to us_**

**_Thanks again to medcat for beta reading. Where would we be without you!_**

**_AU, possibly some spoilers for HOUND._**

Watson's POV

**_

* * *

_**

**Less Hound**

**_by Lemon Zinger and mrspencil _**

* * *

_HOUND poem is in kennel at present having a rest._

_

* * *

_

Poor puppy-need a second opinion?

_

* * *

_

Puppy? Are you quite certain it was a puppy?  
Now that would be an interesting, and less scary, scenario. Hound rhymes more easily though.

_

* * *

_

That would be an hilarious AU

_Holmes scared of a puppy..._

* * *

"_It was the footprint of a gigantic puppy!"_

_That would be silly._

_

* * *

_

I said an AU, someone planted the footprints.

_

* * *

_

_Of course! Much more reasonable and less silly._

* * *

_See, awesome idea, right?_

* * *

Holmes was determined to locate the hound  
We crept forth slowly not making a sound.  
To see what we saw made Holmes quite grumpy  
As we stared at the face of an innocent puppy.

_

* * *

_

_Terrible, perhaps, but that was written in like two minutes, so there wasn't much thought behind it._

* * *

The puppy looked up, with it's puppy-dog eyes,  
It was cute, not monstrous and hairy,  
I sighed ,this can't go in my journal,  
My readers expect something scary.

_

* * *

_

Still not completely convinced of the potential

* * *

It yapped then licked the detective,  
And scampered around on the moor.  
And melted the heart of my comrade.  
What else is a puppy dog for?

_

* * *

_

Hmm!

* * *

Alas, as it playfully gambolled,  
A very unthreatening dog.  
It spotted an insect to follow  
And wandered too close to the bog.

_

* * *

_

_Suddenly, it is a puppy in peril story_!

* * *

Holmes's saved the pup from getting wetter,  
I watched him fuss over the English Setter.  
The pleasant scene I wanted to share  
But for Holmes's pride I wouldn't dare.

* * *

Instead I gave a fitting description  
Of a big hound in my transcription  
The end of the case was very dramatic  
For a detective who was very theatric.

* * *

Then quite suddenly I realized  
That Stapleton had tried to demonize  
This poor puppy licking Holmes hand  
And I wondered what had become of the man.

_

* * *

__Over to you!_

* * *

I stared at my partner in horror,  
There was Stapleton still roaming free,  
There were clues we still had to decipher,  
And a cute little pup held the key!

* * *

Holmes picked up the puppy (quite gently)  
And studied its collar and tag,  
An address was engraved there quite clearly,  
We'd soon have our foe in the bag!

* * *

To Grimpen Mine, Dartmoor, we headed,  
Prepared to find Stapleton's track.  
Holmes carried the pup (it was sleepy)  
As usual, I covered his back.

_

* * *

_

And over to you again!

* * *

It was easy to pick up the trail  
And soon we heard him ahead  
He must have known we followed  
He hurried by the sound of his tread.

* * *

The puppy was keeping silent  
He seemed to know that he must  
Suddenly we lost the trail  
The puppy's nose we had to trust

_

* * *

_

Does Stapleton die or do they catch him?

* * *

So, now we relied on the puppy,  
To pick up the trail of our foe,  
We'd only his keen sense of smell,  
To indicate which way to go.

* * *

So bravely the puppy moved onward  
And entered the great Grimpen mire,  
The puppy was small and courageous  
The bog-sodden plants were much higher.

* * *

The lead was our only connection,  
The puppy was well out of sight,  
Completely obscured by the marsh-grass,  
So Holmes, being cautious, held tight.

_

* * *

_

I did not really advance the story much, I was distracted by the image of the puppy being too small to see over the marsh grass, sorry about that

_Well, what does happen to Stapleton then?_

* * *

That daring young puppy lead us well  
Into the heart of the bog.  
It's courage was admirable,  
Since it was such a small dog.

* * *

We began to hear Stapleton ahead  
And we hurried to capture our foe,  
When suddenly he was in front of us  
About to kick the pup into the swamp below.

_

* * *

_

_Save the puppy!_

* * *

I got out my trusty revolver,  
Prepared to make Stapleton pay.  
But, the risk was I'd injure the puppy,  
And that would have ruined my day.

* * *

So how could we rescue the puppy?  
And stop its demise in the bog?  
We had to stop Stapleton's action,  
Before he disposed of our dog.

* * *

A pattering sound through the marsh grass,  
Holmes and I looked at each other;  
The pup wasn't yapping in terror,  
The puppy was calling its mother!

_

* * *

_

Now - over to you, I'll let you decide just how big and glowing its mom might be!

* * *

It's mother saw Stapleton's threat  
And hurried to protect her son.  
With a growl and a leap she was on him  
Her quick actions couldn't be undone.

* * *

She knocked the scared man to the ground,  
His neck became blood-stained red  
Stapleton's plan for his enemy  
Had turned on him instead.

* * *

So now the man lay dead on the ground

And I was nervous about the mother  
But the puppy licked Holmes's leg  
And she knew we were no bother.

_

* * *

_

_So what becomes of Pup and mom_?

* * *

We stared at the friendly puppy,  
And the monstrous mother hound,  
And looked at Stapleton's body  
Sprawled bloodily on the ground.

* * *

And we left the Dartmoor marshes,  
With two new pets in hand.  
Two furry, loyal Irregulars,  
To add to our little band.

* * *

The noblest, bravest canines,  
You could ever hope to meet,  
Now curled up on the hearthrug,  
In our home in Baker Street

_

* * *

_

Would need to be a big hearthrug.

* * *

Of course, as the puppy grew bolder,  
He developed the instinct to roam.  
He knew he could wander as far as he liked,  
As his family were waiting back home.

_

* * *

_

_So, possibly, more perilous adventures to come!_

* * *

The End

Back to you!


	8. Slightly Less Verse

_a/n: _

_Hi, I have had a few people contact me re adding to a chapter of short moor and HOUND themed poems, but still looking for moor/more if any one would like to contribute :)_

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_A 100B drabble _

_POV- the moor itself_

**

* * *

**

The moor it stays the same

* * *

The moor just waits,

And contemplates,

Through years of mist and rain,

As deeds take place

Which leave no trace,

While tor and heath remain.

* * *

The human cost

As lives are lost,

Through greed and lust and fear.

The haunting sounds,

Of men and hounds,

Ring out then disappear.

* * *

And those who claim

An ancient name

Meet those who watch and wait.

And one may write

So others might

Learn something of their fate.

* * *

The mire won't tell

What end befell

Those souls who haunt the moor.

And foot prints made

In time will fade,

Till all is as before.

* * *

the end


	9. Moor Authors, Less Verse

_a/n: the next chapters contain poems from a variety of authors who have very generously sent in HOUND related poems. Sincere thanks to all :) Any material belongs to the authors named and not to me. They are posted generally in order of length._

_If anyone would like to add to the next chapter, please PM me. HOUND related poem, rhyme not essential, can be very short._

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

**

* * *

**

Moor Authors, Less Verse

* * *

**one

* * *

**

**Moor or less what happens at the end of every case**

**by Wolf's Shadow**

Watson sat, in his hand a letter

It read, "These changes would make it better"

The manuscript was thrown down

And he looked at it, on his face a frown.

MVMVMV

"Holmes, I feel it is no use."

His friend merely nodded and passed the juice

"My editor says it's fit for a horror

And that my descriptions leave it all the poorer."

MVMVMV

Once again Holmes only nodded his head

As his eyes turned longingly towards the bread

Watson shot Holmes with a fiery glare

Until his friend spoke he'd continue to stare

MVMVMV

Holmes sighed. "There is one point on which I disagree

The genre. Why your wrote it at all is a mystery."

Standing from the table, Watson was upset.

That statement he'd make Holmes live to regret...

end

* * *

**two**

* * *

**One Moor Victim**

**by mrspencil**

A huge ungainly awkward beast,

A canine aberration,

Destined for a future spent

In fear and isolation.

MVMVMV

No calming words, no loving home,

No gentle, honest master.

Instead a life designed to cause

Death, chaos and disaster.

MVMVMV

Confined in moorland solitude

Bewildered and mistreated.

A weapon in a dreadful scheme,

No use once it's completed.

MVMVMV

A demon hound, a monstrous freak,

Despised, reviled, rejected.

Of all the victims on the moor,

Perhaps the most neglected.

end

* * *

**three**

* * *

**Moor regrets**

**by Hades Lord of the Dead**

I hope he will forgive me

For the treachery revealed.

While he thought I was in London

I was on the moor, concealed.

MVMVMV

I hope he will forgive me,

I kept him in the dark again,

But only for the case's sake,

For he is my dearest friend,

MVMVMV

I know he will forgive me,

For this case is so bizarre,

But I find it makes me wonder,

Will I one day go to far?

end

* * *

**four**

**

* * *

**

**Moor Sounds**

**by nytd**

It swept across the mire, carrying a chill to the bone

A murmuring yowl rose to a howling moan

From nowhere and everywhere, it was difficult to tell

Just what had uttered that ghastly yell

Something lurking, something looming

Or perhaps just a bittern I heard booming…

end

* * *

_Moor still to come..._


	10. Even Moor Authors

_a/n: Here are a few more poems kindly added by several moor authors. The individual poems belong to the authors listed. Sincere thanks to all:) I would be delighted to post another similar chapter later if anyone else is interested in adding to this._

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

**

* * *

**

**Even Moor Authors

* * *

**

**five**

**

* * *

**

**Moor Trouble Than I Bargained For**

**by sagredo**

A childhood in the country

has done me little good,

I find I miss the city like a London native would.

MVMVMV

My ideal habitat

is far more metropolitan

than this moorland wilderness I am now forced to rough it in.

MVMVMV

Neolithic huts

are sadly lacking in refinements

and muddy, chilly moors are rather uninviting climates.

MVMVMV

A hot bath and a shave,

a proper cup of tea,

would go a long way towards restoring my humanity.

MVMVMV

Give me problems, give me work -

but the conclusion is quite forgone:

The countryside can go to blazes, and I'm going back to London.

MVMV

********

* * *

**six**

* * *

**Legend of the Moor Hound**

**by Ellerina Star**

Out in the mire,

Of a wide country moor,

There lives a spectral hound,

Whose keening howling can be heard

For miles all around.

MVMVMV

They say that flames

Flow from its maw,

And fire from its eyes;

They say a man can die of fright

If he hears the spectre's cries.

MVMVMV

So now beware

To man or beast

Who walks o'er marsh and tor,

Lest you meet the devil-hound

Who dwells upon the moor.

MVMV

********

* * *

**seven**

* * *

**Moor Hassle**

**by Wolf's Shadow**

The day after their adventure

They both rested

But Holmes had to be sure

Watson's patience would be tested

MVMVMV

"Watson, can I have a puppy?"

"No, don't even try!"

"I'd be quite happy-"

"It would make me cry!"

MVMV

********

* * *

**eight**

**

* * *

**

**Moor Limerick**

**by Catherine Spark**

A fiend on the moor, so they said,

The people were shaking with dread

So we came to the scene,

Constructed a scheme,

Killed the hound and sent Henry to bed.

********

* * *

**nine**

**

* * *

**

Moor News

Extra! Extra! (Read all about it!)

by Kiki Cabou

H. Baskerville Saved

Partnership Withstands Deceit

Murderous Dog Shot

********

******

* * *

**

**ten**

* * *

**Moor insight **

**by mrspencil**

As the thick fog hid all from view,

She saw him clearly

For the first time.

********

********

**

* * *

**

**eleven**

******

* * *

**

Moor second thoughts

**by mrspencil **

He heard the hound.

Princetown jail no longer

Seemed such a bad place to be.

********

******

* * *

**

twelve

* * *

Moor title than poem

by Catherine Spark

"After the hound! BANG! Phew..."

* * *

_perhaps moor later..._


	11. And yet Moor Authors

_a/n: a third collection of poems which have been added to by a variety of authors. Thanks again to all :) The poems below belong to the authors listed._

_I am still very happy to post moor poems if anyone wishes to join in._

_Holmes and companions do not belong to me._

_**

* * *

**_

And yet Moor Authors

* * *

**thirteen**

**************************

* * *

**

Moor Correspondence from Mr Frankland

**by mrspencil**

Dear Sir, it is my duty to report, for your attention,

A host of misdemeanors which I really have to mention.

I know you think those murders are the major Dartmoor crime,

But several other matters should be taking up your time.

MVMVMV

First, that giant hound of hell presented quite a danger;

Its owner let it roam at large, quite free to maul a stranger.

And Stapleton, the owner, had no muzzle on that hound,

And I'm sure his hunting license will prove nowhere to be found.

And Stapleton's remains are where a corpse should not be put,

And Holmes quite clearly trespassed in that Neolithic hut.

And under false pretences, my sweet daughter went astray.

(At least her feckless, useless artist husband stayed away.)

And Stapleton's dear sister was his wedded wife no less!

(Please add an extra claim for my emotional distress.)

The Barrymores, it's clear, have acted well above the law;

They've helped a hardened criminal cause havoc on the moor.

And have you checked the papers of the Baskerville's young heir?

I would not be surprised to find some shady dealings there.

And, no, I'm not vindictive, petty-minded, sad or bitter.

If Holmes had not picked up that boot, you'd have him too; that's litter!

MVMVMV

So, please direct your efforts to these crimes upon the moors,

I expect a prompt response, I always do, sincerely yours.

MV

* * *

**fourteen****

* * *

******

Tic(k)s

**by goldvermilion87**

Each month with one pipette I dose my pup,

My Arthur, with some liquid Frontline Plus ™

To kill the ticks that on his blood would sup,

And induce lyme, and produce scabs and pus.

Just so, I wish, had Doyle destroyed the "tic"

That crept into a country doctor's prose

And made what had been perfect meter sick

And made the hopeful fangirl shout, "O NOES!"

Perhaps if I had understood sprung rhythm

I would've done a Hopkins with the words

But since I don't, I can do nothing with 'em

That's not (me-TER-ic-AL-ly) for the birds

If only in iambs did the words resound:

"They were the footprints of a giant hound!"

MV

* * *

**fifteen**

* * *

**The Hippopotamus of the Baskervilles**

**by Catherine Spark**

It gave us such a big surprise

A thing with awful glowing eyes,

A brownish shape with tree-trunk feet

Burst from the mist, we did retreat.

MVMVMV

Holmes said: "I thought he had a hound!

How do we hunt this beast down?

Where did he keep it all these years?"

(Lestrade was by this time in tears).

MVMVMV

Its mouth was wide and it did yawn,

And plodded ominously on.

We felt so helpless standing there

Sir Henry too could only stare.

MVMVMV

Holmes fired at it, so did I…

But – alas – it would not die!

Our bullets just bounced off its skin:

So thick that nothing could get in.

MVMVMV

The beast made one last mighty rush

Towards Sir Henry, for to crush,

We ran but it was far too late –

The hippo's head start was too great.

MVMVMV

But Providence was on our side,

Because the sheer weight of its hide

Did drag it down into the mire,

Where it did sink, there to expire.

MV

* * *

**sixteen**

**********

* * *

**

**Moor Remorse**

**by Hades Lord of the Dead**

It was a dog, which I had shot,

And stopped it in its tracks.

I didn't give a second thought,

Fear had all thoughts hijacked.

MVMVMV

It was a pet, which I had met,

And now myself I do curse,

For my bullet must indeed have set,

Its health to grow much worse.

MVMVMV

It is remorse, from which the source,

Is this same dog and pet.

Most scared and terrified, of course,

Of any hound I've ever met.

MVMVMV

It was a dog, which I had shot,

To save Sir Henry from the pain,

But now I wish that I had not,

Made this the last spot it had lain.

MV

* * *

_yet moor to follow...?_


	12. Just a few authors moor

_a/n: Many thanks again to the contributing authors. I would be very happy to receive further poems if anyone else wishes to join in. I believe nytd has succeeded in composing the poem title with the most inventive use of the word "moor" so far -a challenge perhaps?_

_Holmes and his companions do not belong to me_

* * *

**Just a few authors more**

* * *

**seventeen**

* * *

**Moor courage**

**by Wolf's Shadow**

He wished not to see

The moor, dreadful sight

Its secrets held terror

Indescribable at night.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

Not just a wild criminal

But an unknown danger.

He was risking his life

For another, a stranger.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

His duty remained

He would, could not run

For despite his great fear

The game had begun.

MV

* * *

**eighteen**

* * *

**Moortal Musings**

**by nytd**

The barren heath, a desolate moor

That isolated fen

Could not have been a more suitable place

For the Devil to prey on men

MVMVMVMVMVMV

Yet if a man had heard the tale

Of the Baskerville hound's ire

An easy thing it would be to scoff

In the sitting room by the fire

MVMVMVMVMVMV

But in that lonely corner of Devonshire

With fog and Neolithic home

It was much more difficult to dispute

That a fiendish beast might roam

MVMVMVMVMVMV

The spectral hound had been described

As huge as far as dogs go

With slavering jaws, demonic eyes

And a preternatural glow

MVMVMVMVMVMV

As a man of science I tried to ignore

Such cobwebs and moonshine

But when that howl swept across the moor

A chill ran up my spine

MVMVMVMVMVMV

It hadn't helped that even Holmes

Had quoted Baskerville lore

When the powers of evil are exalted

Make sure to stay off the moor

MVMVMVMVMVMV

I did my best to disregard the myth

But the footprint had me vexed

And if a hound did roam the ground

Was it from this world or the next?

MV

* * *

**nineteen**

* * *

**In Baker Street Once Moor**

**by AdidasandPie**

Holmes confidently proclaimed there was no better man

Before I could answer Sir Henry seized me by the hand

On Saturday I was set to go to Baskerville Hall

So that back to Holmes in London I might report all

To my surprise, on the day that we were meant to depart

I saw it was false to call Holmes a "brain without a heart"

He said that it was a nasty business on the tor

He'd be glad to have me safe and sound in Baker Street once more

MV

* * *

**twenty**

* * *

**Moor questions**

**by mrspencil**

So, the nightmare is now over,

My ordeal is at an end.

I should make a full recovery

As mind and body mend.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

But, as I head for distant shores

And leave the moor behind,

So many questions trouble me

And occupy my mind.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

I gained my rightful title,

My inheritance and land.

But what did Holmes and Watson gain?

I don't quite understand.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

What made my case a worthwhile one

To risk their safety for?

What made them swap their London home

For peril on the moor?

MVMVMVMVMVMV

It's obvious they understood

Their own lives could be lost.

What factors made them both decide

That this was worth the cost?

MVMVMVMVMVMV

Who else would rush to help

With such a complicated case;

Prepared to hunt my demons down,

And meet them face to face?

MVMVMVMVMVMV

I am not a close acquaintance.

I can't claim to know them well.

And yet they stood beside me

To defeat that hound of Hell.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

It's clear their motivation

Was not pride or simple greed.

They gloried in the challenge,

And they helped a man in need.

MVMVMVMVMVMV

And if I needed help again,

They would not hesitate.

The fact that men like this exist,

Is cause to celebrate.

MV

* * *

Moor later?


	13. A little moor verse

_a/n:a chain rhyme, which is accidentally also a drabble:-)_

_POV of the Dartmoor convict._

* * *

**Hunted down**

* * *

An echoing wail; a haunting cry from a distant tor.

A mournful howl which could chill the blood;

An unearthly sound.

~0~

An unearthly sound; a demon roaming the windswept moor;

I stopped, and I listened, and I understood.

I had heard the hound.

~0~

I had heard the hound; a creature unleashed from the depths of hell;

And I ran, though I feared that I ran in vain.

It had found my trail.

~0~

It had found my trail, and I tried to escape, though I knew full well

It was hard on my heels; as I heard again

An echoing wail.

~0~


	14. Two moor poems

_a/n:I am delighted to welcome Lemon Zinger back, and to add her poem to this collection:-)_

_Holmes, hound and companions do not belong to me._

* * *

**Two moor poems**

* * *

**twenty two**

* * *

**Moor Acrostic**

**by Lemon Zinger**

Henry Baskerville has come upon fortune or fate

Of a hound. Dr Mortimer speaks on this date

Under the fog of a dark bog and mire.

Now they fear a new murder will transpire,

Deciding to send Watson to investigate.

~0~

On the moor, life seems very desolate

For the inhabitants are all quite grim.

~0~

The doctor ses to the task before him;

He meets neighbours, but no motive is clear;

Each seems frightened of the danger so near.

~0~

Barrymore is hiding the escaped convict,

And Henry is left in dire conflict;

Striding forth to find the murderous man,

Knowing it is against Holmes' plan.

Espying a boy running to and fro;

Ruins might hold a dodgy foe.

Very neatly, Watson finds the place

In which Holmes has watched the case.

Little time is left; the chase is on;

Lives might be lost before dawn.

Everyone seems most surprised

Stapleton was the villain in disguise.

~0~

* * *

**twenty three**

* * *

**Moor typing for Laura Lyons**

**by mrspencil**

My typewriter, a Remington,

A well-used instrument.

Neat words, not jumbled scrawl;

Obscuring meaning and intent.

~0~

No false deceiving penmanship,

No promised words to break.

No tears to make the pages blur,

No mess, no lives at stake.

~0~

No tricks, no hidden messages,

Each sentence bold and clear.

No grand artistic flourishes

To spoil what I hold dear.

~0~

But...

Mistakes, once typed, remain;

There's no restoring what is lost.

Too late, I understand

What every single word can cost.

~0~

* * *

_a/n2: any moor poems out there?_


End file.
